Forced By the Ruthless Bratva Beast (Tarasov Bratva #3)

Chapter 9 – Roman

I slouched in my chair, eyelids drooping. My mouth slacked, relaxing into a slight pout. Every now and then, I checked my watch, my eyes glazing over with disinterest.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have Lot 7,” the auctioneer's voice droned on. “The exquisite 2015 Lamborghini's Huracan with only 500 miles on it—a true marvel of Italian engineering. Bidding starts at $300,000.”

At this point, nothing about this event was exciting—it was all just boring to me. What I wanted wasn't on display.

My eyes darted across the hall and settled on Julia as she stood at her position, balanced on those heels. Inarguably, she was the hottest and most beautiful assistant in the hall tonight.

Her alluring legs looked so enticing, and so did her model figure, as revealed by her tight, short skirt. My palm swiped over my mouth as I fixed my gaze on this perfect work of art meticulously sculpted by the Creator himself. Every curve, every inch of her gorgeous body, was a marvel I'd choose over these exotic cars any day.

Momentarily, she would steal glances at me, our eyes meeting for only a split second before she'd tear her gaze off me.

Something had happened to her when our hands touched minutes ago—I felt the spark of electricity between us, the tension that caused my chest to flutter for a moment. She definitely felt that, too, even though she'd masked it with an act of professionalism.

But I could see right through her.

When my skin had brushed against hers, she'd trembled, however subtle, her sultry lips parting slightly to allow a quiet gasp to escape. Her breath had hitched in her throat, and the shocked expression on her face exposed the sensation she experienced.

Even now, with this much distance between us, I could tell that she was struggling to remain composed. Each time I caught her eyes, their depths showed a glint of endearment.

I wouldn't take my eyes off her, and I couldn’t stop smirking. I was enjoying the show—watching her fight to maintain composure.

Her shoulders tensed, then relaxed, and her weight shifted, distributed evenly on both feet. She drew in a deep breath, lifting her chin, and her eyes flew across the hall as if looking for an escape from my intense gaze. I watched as she pursed her lips, a tiny crease forming between her brows.

She straightened her spine, her mouth curling into a faint, self-deprecating smile. As my gaze lingered, I watched her nostrils flare, her pupils dilating—a subtle hint at the tension running through her.

I was loving this.

My eyes narrowed, that playful smirk still stuck on my face.

“Do I hear $330,000? $330,000?” the auctioneer's voice cut through my thoughts like a knife.

My eyes darted toward a bidder in the front row holding up his paddle.

“Thank you, sir. $330,000 is it,” the auctioneer acknowledged. “Do I hear $350,000?”

The bidder was Matthew Quintin, a greedy old fuck who had a reputation for lusting over young girls. My fingers clenched into fists as I watched him fix his eyes on Julia. His gaze roamed her body, and the idea that he was harboring illicit thoughts about her caused my skin to crawl. My jaw tightened, jealousy getting the better of me.

I hated that someone other than me had their eyes on her, and peering closely, I realized Matthew wasn't the only one lusting over her. A couple of men—the majority of whom I knew to be married—also seemed enchanted by her.

My forehead creased as a scowl settled on my face. I knew that I shouldn't be jealous, but I couldn't help it. Julia was different—she was special—and those dirty dogs were unworthy to even lick her shoes.

My only consolation was the fact that she wasn't paying attention to any of the sick fucks drooling over her. I was the only man in the hall she stole hidden glances at.

“$350,000, going once, going twice. Sold! For $350,000 to bidder number 14,” the auctioneer announced.

The event continued for the next hour or so, and I was bored to death with Julia as my only source of comfort and entertainment.

When it was finally over, I took my attention off her for barely a minute, and when I returned my gaze, she was gone. I sprang to my feet, eyes slightly widened in wonder, and roamed the hall, scanning for any sign of her.

“Excuse me,” I said softly, weaving through the crowd as I looked around, hoping she hadn't slipped through my fingers.

I exited the hall and stood poised at the hallway intersection, turning my head to survey both sides. Out here, the crowd was thin as most of the guests were still in the hall; however, a few stragglers lingered, exchanging quiet conversations.

Down the corridor, a door caught my attention—the staff room, slightly ajar—and a spark of hope ignited. Maybe she was in there.

I spotted Matthew and his associates, and without a second thought, I pivoted toward the staff room, eager to avoid their notice. Matthew had a knack for lengthy conversations; his penchant for that was legendary, and I was in no mood for small talk.

With a hand in my pocket, my shoes clicking softly against the polished marble floor, I glided over to the door and looked inside.

There she was, pacing back and forth with a phone to her ear. Her voice was hushed, so I couldn't hear her exact words.

Who is she talking to?

Julia had her head bowed. Her chin rested on her chest, fingertips gently rubbing over her eyebrows in a soothing motion. She was clearly listening to someone on the other line, but she seemed stressed and uneasy for some reason. Her eyes were closed, the lids twitching occasionally, and her lips were pursed. If her slumped shoulders were anything to go by, the conversation was draining her.

But despite all of this, she still looked so beautiful and sexy.

I stepped inside, my gaze locked on her.

She must have heard me come in, and her eyes darted toward the entrance. I watched her breath cease at my appearance, her throat wobbling as she swallowed hard. Obviously, she was shocked to see me. Julia discreetly ended the call and set the phone down, eyes lingering on my form.

I furrowed my brows, wondering why there was a glimmer of fear in her eyes. She seemed terrified—bothered that I might have listened in on her conversation.

She would never cease to amuse me.

Why would I eavesdrop on her phone call?

Tonight, she seemed a lot more approachable compared to the last time we met. She exuded a welcoming atmosphere devoid of hostility, and as I stepped forward, her chest heaved slowly.

“Relax, I didn't come here to fight,” I said, a smirk dancing on my lips. “And you can rest assured that I didn't hear your phone conversation either.”

She let out a sigh, blinking rapidly, a wave of relief washing over her face.

“Just curious,” I stated, halting in front of her, my gaze unwavering. “Who were you talking to?”

Her eyes furrowed, head slightly tilting sideways with a faint grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Her tone was soft and inviting.

I scoffed, pinching the bridge of my nose as I decided not to pry further. She was much nicer and calmer tonight, and I couldn't risk ruining that.

So, I changed the subject.

“You’re everywhere I look,” I said, my voice low and husky as my eyes bore into hers. “Are you stalking me?”

“You wish,” she replied, her expression softening as she gazed back at me. “Maybe you're the one who's stalking me.” She wouldn't break eye contact, causing my chest to flutter. “Besides, you walked in here just to talk to me.”

I chuckled, bowing my head for a moment before returning my gaze to her face. “I noticed you didn't quit your job at Jupiter.”

The bartender had kept me informed of her activities at the club since our last encounter.

She squinted her eyes. “Now, who's stalking?”

“It's my nightclub. Keeping tabs on my employees is part of the job,” I replied, my gaze drawn to the subtle curves of her enticing lips.

“Is it now?” Her brows arched. “Or is it possible that you're just obsessed with me?” she asked tauntingly, turning around to grab her bag from a couch.

The shape of her ass caught my eye, prompting me to step closer, my hands resting on her waist from the back. “What if I am?” I gently pulled her to myself.

The air was filled with the scent of her perfume, mixing with that of my cologne, as her ass rested on my groin. She writhed against me, squirming out of my hold, but I wouldn't let go. I could feel her unease and sense her reluctance to resist me. The air around us was thick with sexual tension, and I was certain that she liked the way my erection was brushing gently against her ass.

My hands dared to caress the gentle swell of her bosom through the fabric of her shirt. She moaned softly, attempting to pull away from me, but her heavy breaths and subtle grind over my boner betrayed her resistance.

A part of her was enjoying it.

With a delicate motion, I seized the nape of her neck, my fingers tracing down to her cleavage.

She trembled at my touch, sluggishly attempting to break free. “Roman, stop.” Her tone was low and sexy, hinting that she wanted the exact opposite of her words.

My hands roamed her curves and settled on her thighs. A soft gasp escaped her lips as my fingers climbed under the hem of her skirt. “Please, stop. I'm working,” she moaned, melting into my arms, her hands pulling mine off her thighs.

I smirked, knowing that she definitely wanted me as much as I wanted her.

“You're gonna get me in trouble,” she added, the sweetness of her voice only making me harder.

I spun her around, pressing her waist against my groin, and fixed my gaze on her misted eyes. I squinted, wondering why she looked like she was about to cry. If she was enjoying this, why did she have tears in her eyes? Why was there a glint of guilt flashing in their depths?

What a mysterious woman.

Someone conspicuously cleared their throat, announcing their presence. Quickly, she pulled away from me, tugging down the hem of her skirt while simultaneously fixing her shirt. Her head was bowed in embarrassment as she stood coldly at a pace away from me.

I turned to face the man clad in a white suit. It was Ethan Michaelson, the manager of tonight's auction. With one last glance in her direction, I scoffed at how innocently she stood, unable to raise her head.

Digging a hand in my pocket, I stepped out of the room.